You Broke Me, You Saved Me
by love.is.blinding
Summary: Juliet Summers owns an art gallery in New York. Neal Caffrey is a white collar criminal turned FBI agent. They both have had heartbreak and tragedy in the past, but they just might be what the other needs to move finally be able to move on. R
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own White Collar or any of its characters. This is purely for fun :)**

**Chapter one**

I stared at the blank white wall in front of me, growing more impatient with each passing second. All I had to do was pick which painting to hang there, but it seems like fate had decided against it. See, I had recently added a new wing to my art gallery and I had more spot to fill up. The only problem was, both of the paintings would fit perfectly, so I was stuck.

"Christine!" I shouted, calling for my assistant. A perky blonde walked into the room, blackberry in hand.

"Hey Juliet. What's up?" she asked, smiling at me.

I sighed and looked at her helplessly. "I can't decide whether to hang the Windrix or the Albertson. Help." I said, pouting a little. Christine smiled a little and looked at the pieces.

"Hmm…" she mumbled, looking around at the already hanging art. "I'd go with the Windrix. Albertson would go better with the Urban Contemporary section." I thought about it then stared at her.

"Why didn't I think of that? See, another reason why you are the best assistant I could ask for. Thank you ever so much." I told her, lifting the colorful painting up on to the wall. "Ah, perfect. Now let's go hang this sucker." Christine nodded and followed me as I started walking with the other painting.

We passed the Impressionism section, and I noticed a tall brunette examining some of the paintings. "Hey, Christine, can you hang this for me?" I asked quietly, carefully passing her the painting.

"Sure. Where?" she asked, looking at me.

"Uhm, where ever it looks good." I told her, walking towards the mystery guy. "Hi there. How are you this evening?" The man turned towards me, and I was immediately stunned by how handsome he was. His brown hair was combed back and he had the most intense grey eyes. He smiled at me, revealing dazzling white teeth.

"I'm fine. Just admiring your impressive collection. Is this an authentic Monet?" he asked, gesturing towards the painting he was standing in front of. I walked over to it,

"Yes, it is. _Field of Poppies._ One of his lesser known works." I told him, smiling at it. "I'm Juliet Summers. This is my gallery." I extended my hand and he shook it, smiling at me.

"Neal Caffrey. I don't believe that I have visited your gallery before. I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised by it." He said, looking around the room. I felt a pang of familiarity when he said his name, but couldn't quite place where I had heard it before. I shook the thought out of my head and smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Caffrey. Would you like a tour?" I asked, turning towards the door a bit.

"I would love one, but I'm short on time right now. But I'll take a raincheck." He replied ad I nodded. "I don't recognize some of your pieces. Did you paint them?"

I nodded. "A few of them I did myself, but most of it comes from artists in and around New York City. I'm kind of a promoter of underground art, I guess." I explained. Neal smiled and checked his watch.

"Oh, I have to be somewhere. I'll definitely come back for that tour. It was nice meeting you, Juliet." He said, flashing me another dazzling smile. I nodded and smiled.

"You too, Neal. I'm looking forward to seeing you again." I replied. Neal smiled and walked towards the exit. Before he left, he stopped to examine another painting, an that's when it hit me.

Neal Caffrey. White collar criminal. I just invited a convicted art forger and thief back to my art gallery. Way to go, Juliet.

...

It was the third day since Neal Caffrey had visited my gallery and I grew more apprehensive each day he didn't come back. It was the end of the day, and Christine was about to leave for the night.

"Are you sure you don't need any help closing up?" Christine asked, putting a scarf around her neck. I smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I've got it. I'll see you tomorrow. " I said as she waved and walked out of the building. I smiled again and began checking the different rooms, making sure there weren't any stragglers.

I was in one of the back rooms when I thought I heard the entrance door open. I frowned and started making my way back toards it. As the door came into view, I heard shuffling in one of the rooms. I turned towards the noise and found a coupe of guys.

"Excuse me, gentleman, but I'm closing up. You can come back tomorrow." I said. They looked at me and nodded, walking back towards the door.

I turned back around and started heading back to where I was before. All of a sudden, I was grabbed from behind. I tried to scream, but a hand was clamped over my mouth, preventing any noise from coming out.

"Tie her up, quick!" the guy who was holding me shouted. Another guy grabbed my hands, and duct taped them togethe. He put a piece of tape over my mouth, and then they both carried me a supply closet.

Once the first guy let me go, I turned towards him and tried to do anything I could to hurt him. He responded by hitting me with something hard. That stunned me a bit, but I kept fighting. He hit me again, and then a third time. I fell on to the floor, before passing out.

...

I was aware of the cold floor underneath of me as I felt myself coming to. I opened my eyes slowly and tried to sit up, but my head grew dizzy so I stopped moving. I realized my hands were bound together, and the events that occurred came rushing back to me. I immediately felt painc starting to rise inside of me. I reached up and took the tape off of my mouth, a cry escaping me as I did so.

I quickly stood up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my head. I opened the door, hands still bound together, and rushed outside. The bright lights of my gallery hit, making my head hurt even more. I scanned the hall I was in, my eyes stopping on a frame. An empty frame, to be exact. The canvas had been cut out of it. I felt a bit of anger and fear spreading through me, and rushed to my phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am so sorry that it took so long to update this! I just got busy and I lost interest in it, but I saw that everyone kept subscribing to this, so I decided to continue it! And the premiere of WC definitely made me remember this haha. SORRY!**

**Chapter two**

"Miss Summers, do you remember anything about the men who robbed you?" a man dressed in a blue uniform asked, looking up from his little memo pad. We were standing on the sidewalk outside of my gallery, while the forensics team did their thing inside. I pushed my hair out of my face and shook my head.

"Uhm, no. I didn't really get a good look at them," I replied. The officer frowned and jotted something tall.

I sighed and looked at the floor. "One of them was tall and the other was average height? They weren't very muscular. They were just…average. Nothing about them really caught my attention. Well, I mean, nothing until they threw me into a closet."

The officer nodded and closed his notebook. "Thank you, Miss Summers. We'll be in touch if anything turns up," he said, turning to leave.

"Wait, that's it? I get attacked, tied up in a closet, my paintings get _ripped _out of the frame, and all you have is 'we'll be in touch?'" I asked, standing up. The officer's eyes widened in a bit, but he quickly regained his composure.

"You don't have a good description of the suspects, your gallery doesn't have any security cameras and we have yet to find any fingerprints or other DNA samples. There is not much we can do. It's pretty much a waiting game at this point," he replied calmly. He had obviously been in a similar situation.

I closed my eyes and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I understand. Thank you for your help," I told him. He nodded and headed back to the police car.

As the squad car pulled away, a light blue Honda Civic took its place. Christine quickly got out and rushed towards me.

"Oh my God, Jules! Are you okay? I feel so bad, I should've stayed with you!" she said, pulling me into a hug. I hugged me back, pulling away and looking at her.

"Christine, don't you dare think this was your fault for one second. It wouldn't have mattered. And I'm okay, and that's what matters, right?" I asked, smiling a little at her. She looked at me and nodded.

"Yes, that's what matters," she repeated, nodding a little more. "So which paintings did they take?"

I sighed and shook my head. "A couple of my pieces, a Swoon, our two Monet's and some works by Albertson. It's ridiculous. I mean, why would they just take those? I have more valuable stuff in there, but they left it behind," I said, more to myself than to Christine. She shrugged and smiled.

"They're dumbasses, that's why. I mean, for robbing _you_ in the first place? Wow, I would not want to be in their position right now," she said, nudging me a little. I smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I guess. This whole night just sucks. I'm gonna head on home. Hopefully the police find _something_, I don't really care what," I told her, shaking my head. Christine nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Drive safely," she said, heading back to her own car. I waved and began walking to my own apartment, which was only a few blocks away.

…

The next couple of days were filled with waiting. Waiting for my gallery to be cleared as a crime scene, waiting for the police to file my report, waiting to hear _anything_ about who could've done this. It was driving me crazy.

After being in my apartment all morning, I decided I needed some fresh air. Well, as fresh as New York air can be. I grabbed a jacket out of my closet and headed outside. It was fairly brisk outside, since it was early November. The leaves in the trees were a fiery blend of orange and yellow, and the scenery almost made me forget all my problems. Almost.

One person had been in the back of my mind this whole process. Neal Caffrey. He shows up at my gallery, then three days later I get robbed. That cannot be a coincidence. I admit that I had been keeping an eye out, hopefully for a chance to see him, to confront him about what has happened, but he was like a distant memory. The kind that seemed like a dream.

Still, it didn't really help my situation to dwell on it. I needed to actually do something, rather than just wait around.

I was mindlessly wandering through the streets and somehow I came across a person selling paintings and drawings. A few of them caught my eye and I stopped to look at some of them. The person selling them, I assumed they were the artist, noticed me stop and came up to me.

"Hey there. See anything you like?" he asked, looking at me. I smiled and looked over at him.

"Did you do these yourself?" I asked, crouching to get a better look at one of them, a pencil sketch of the Chrysler building. I heard him chuckle.

"Yes, ma'am. That was one of my first," he said, gesturing towards the sketch. I smiled and stood up again.

"My name's Juliet Summers. I own an art gallery down on 42nd street," I told him, shaking his hand. His smile grew and he nodded.

"Nice to meet you, miss Summers. My name's Gary Collins," he said, his green eyes twinkling a bit.

"So, Mr. Collins. How would you feel about having some of your pieces on display?"


End file.
